


make your home with me in my arms

by Doranwen



Series: Doranwen's Semi-Abandoned WIPs [7]
Category: Rookie Blue
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alpha Reader Needed, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Learning to trust, Living Together, Loss of Parent(s), Minor Character Death, Not Beta Read, Read at Your Own Risk, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, Trust Issues, WIP, not actively being written, posted for those who like reading WIPs that may never be finished
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:48:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26148181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doranwen/pseuds/Doranwen
Summary: "So what, you're going to manufacture me a nice cozy family?  Mom and dad and brother in the suburbs?"  Her laugh was bitter, mocking."Andy…" he began."No, really, Sam, what bright idea do you have now?"  She rolled her eyes at Sam, but glanced away before they could lock with his.  She picked at her fingernails restlessly."You're going to stay with me."
Relationships: Andy McNally/Sam Swarek
Series: Doranwen's Semi-Abandoned WIPs [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1897975
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In the show, Andy has a strong relationship with her father, despite his addiction to alcohol. This acts as a mitigating factor to the abandonment she feels from her mother's actions, leaving her "messed up" (see her words to Noah in 1x05 Broad Daylight) but relatively "normal". Tweak a few variables, though, and everything might change significantly. In this case, our story starts years before she ever arrives at 15 Division…
> 
> This is one of the WIPs I would most like to finish but despite having a rough outline, it's not enough for me to write from. If you love Rookie Blue and would love to see this finished - and have the time to chat with me - I would LOVE the help!
> 
> In case you missed the tags: This is unfinished. It is not being worked on. It may always be unfinished (unless someone really wants to see it finished and is willing to do a lot of chatting with me to help that). You have been warned; don't expect any more of this fic to be posted (though you can always hit the Subscribe button; one never knows what might happen!).

_May 1998_

"Can you believe it's been a year?" Oliver asked. "We made it a whole year."

"We're still rookies, though," Jerry pointed out.

"We've been cut loose," Frank said.

Jerry shook his head. "They still treat us like rookies."

"Ahh, that's just 'cause they haven't had any fresh meat lately," said Noelle with a grin. "Wait till we get some new faces."

Her eyes met Sam's across the table; he grinned back at her but said nothing.

Jerry drained his glass. "Time for another round," he said. "Who's up for it?"

Oliver pointed his finger at Sam. "Sammy, your turn."

Sam decided not to argue—Oliver **was** right, after all—and headed towards the bar. His attention was caught by the sight of a teenager making her way to Detective McNally. She was young, probably no more than thirteen or fourteen, but her face showed determination rather than any hesitation or uncertainty at her location. His curiosity piqued, he changed his path so he would walk right by them.

"Dad, c'mon," she urged, tugging at McNally's coat.

"Wher—where we goin'?" he slurred, swaying a little.

"We're going home. You've had enough tonight," she declared.

Sam decided the next round of drinks could wait, and kept a surreptitious eye on the pair as the girl gradually got McNally moving and out the door. He followed them outside and cleared his throat to alert her to his presence. "Do you want a ride home?" he asked.

She shook her head firmly. "We're fine, thanks." Her tone was decisive, though she didn't meet his eyes. "The cab will be here soon."

"I could drive you both; I've got a truck here." He pointed at it.

"No, thank you, I've got this." An edge crept into her voice.

Sam sighed, but decided to wait and be sure she was telling the truth. A few minutes later, a cab pulled up and she expertly maneuvered her father into one of the seats before going to the other side to hop in. Sam watched it go, slightly intrigued.

He ducked back inside and belatedly collected the next round of drinks for his table.

Jerry snagged his almost before he set the tray down. "What took you so long?" he asked Sam.

Sam hesitated for a minute, then decided to ask. "Who was that girl who came to get McNally?"

"Oh, Andy? That's McNally's daughter. He used to talk about her all the time when I rode with him," Oliver informed him. When Sam didn't respond, Oliver added, "She's fourteen, Sammy. Jailbait," Oliver warned as he scrutinized Sam's face.

Sam shook his head. "I wasn't planning on dating her; I just wondered about her." He wasn't about to tell them about how he understood her situation all too well.

Noelle raised an eyebrow slightly but didn't speak. Frank sipped his drink silently.

"Yeah, McNally's having a rough time of it," said Oliver with a shake of his head. "If he's not careful soon he'll end up out of a job, according to Rowland."

"Enough depressing talk," Jerry proclaimed. "We're here to celebrate a year of being coppers!" He raised a glass. "To many more years together."

"To many more years together," the others echoed, joining the toast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Technically** she's not actually jailbait - at that time, the age of consent in Canada was **14** (now increased to 16) - but close enough, and Oliver's generally protective anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

_June 2000_

Andy switched the grocery sack to her other hand, eyes alert for movement in the darkness as she strode swiftly down the sidewalk. She hated shopping at this hour of night and usually planned her shopping trips for early Saturday morning, but somehow she'd underestimated the groceries needed for the week. She tried not to think of how tired she was, of the homework waiting for her… of what state her dad might be in.

She was jolted out of her thoughts by a moan from the alley she was passing. She abruptly stopped walking, peering into the gloom to make out a human-shaped lump on the ground. When it didn't move, she came a few steps closer, close enough to recognize the lump as the body of a man. He had clearly been beaten, with bruises all over his face and arms. She winced, imagining what the rest of him looked like. He had made a sound just a few seconds before, so he wasn't dead.

"Hey, you OK?" she asked. It was a stupid question, but she didn't have a better one. She set the groceries down on the ground out of the way, and leaned down to roll him over onto his back. He let out another groan, so she kept tugging. "You can't stay here," she told him. "Come on, get up." The sack of groceries went back on one of her arms as soon as he was in a sitting position. He seemed to be fairly out of it, eyes so swollen that he could barely open them and head lolling about. At last she got his arm over her shoulders, and his legs supporting him instinctively.

They stumbled into the dingy building, door creaking behind them. The walk up the flight of stairs seemed longer than ever, as she paused on each step to muster the energy to shove him upwards. When she staggered into the apartment, half-dragging the man, she barely noticed the empty bottles on the floor, kicking them out of the way subconsciously. She released the man onto an empty spot on the couch, shoving another bottle off onto the floor.

The groceries were unceremoniously deposited on the only counter space she could find, and she left her backpack leaning against a table leg, freeing her hands to inspect the stranger she had almost literally dragged home. His hair was dark and greasy, and he smelled little better than the alley she'd found him in. His clothes were dirty and stained—with blood and who knew what else. She made a mental note to wipe down the couch before she sat on it again. She took his face in her hands to see if she could see his pupils, but the area around his eyes was too swollen; she doubted he was able to see at all at the moment. She bit her lip in indecision for a moment, dropping her hands.

The man groaned again. His head turned towards her, and he tried to crack an eye open, unsuccessfully.

"You conscious now?" she asked.

He touched his tongue to his split upper lip, then croaked out, "Yeah. Where am I?"

"My apartment. I found you in the alley. Looks like someone didn't like you too well."

"More like several someones," he said. His voice was still a bit gravelly.

"You want some water?" she offered. "Your throat sounds dry."

"Sure."

She grabbed a clean glass and let the sink fill it halfway, keeping an eye on him. He didn't seem inclined to move, and had given up on trying to open his eyes.

"You got it pretty bad," she told him as she handed him the glass. "You should go to the hospital; you probably have a concussion."

He shook his head carefully. "Not a chance." He sipped the water slowly.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Then you at least ought to get some ice on your eyes." She got up and started rummaging in the freezer. "What's your name, by the way?"

"Tony. You?"

"I'm Andy." The noise of the bedroom door opening had Tony on alert, until Andy spoke. "Relax, it's just my dad. Probably heading to the bathroom." She wrapped the bag of frozen peas she found in a towel and pressed it into Tony's hand. "There, hold that across your eyes." With eyes covered, he wouldn't be able to see her father's staggering. She'd learned to be thankful for small favors.

"Oh, we got a vizh—a vizh-i-tor," slurred her father. He stood at the doorway, swaying slightly. "Hi, I'm Tommy."

Tony didn't answer for a moment, but finally said, "Hi, Tommy."

"Heh, it's Sam Swarek," Tommy said, squinting as he stumbled over. "How'd you get beat up, Sammy?"

"Sammy?" she whispered, staring at the battered man on her couch.

The man held very still for a moment, but when her father showed no sign of leaving, he sighed. "It's a long story, McNally."

Andy's father nodded, then suddenly remembered his urge to visit the restroom.

"You're a cop," Andy accused. Her eyes narrowed further. "And you're UC."

"Congratulations," Sam said flatly. "You just blew my cover."

She scowled at him. "I didn't blow anything. My dad doesn't talk to anyone but the bottle of whisky in his hand, and no one around here knows he was a cop."

"And you?"

"I know better than to open my trap about that, even if I talked to anyone either. Secret's safe with me." She tilted her head to the side, considering. "Explains why you didn't want to go to the hospital, though."

Sam sighed. "I probably should let my handler know, but I can't call him on my phone, just in case…"

"Use mine," Andy offered. "You got the number memorized?"

He rattled off the digits to her, and she punched them in, but hesitated before starting the call. "Don't tell them who you're staying with, please?"

He gave her a slight nod. "All right."

She hit the button to start the call, then handed the phone to him.

"It's Sam," he said after a few moments. "No, I'm in someone's apartment."

Andy listened to the one-sided conversation.

"Relax, don't worry, they're completely safe, I guarantee it. I'm calling because I'm going to have to lay low for a few days. Yeah, the Preston gang jumped me, probably thought I was getting too close to their turf. No, I'll be fine, I'm just bruised some."

"And a concussion," Andy whispered. "Tell them," she insisted when Sam didn't volunteer the information to his handler.

"And a concussion. Yeah, they'll wake me up every few hours for a while. We'll meet up Thursday next week, normal place and time? OK." He handed the phone back to her, and she ended the call.

"So," she began, "I guess you're stuck with me for a bit. Hungry?" She got up and went to put the groceries away.

"Yeah."

* * *

Sam didn't recognize her voice at first, the aches and pains from his beating having taken over much of his ability to think. When she introduced herself as Andy, though, the pieces began to fall into place, and he had to work hard not to betray any sense of recognition, especially when her father started speaking. Of all his luck, to end up in the apartment of a former cop. His hopes for escaping with his cover intact dwindled rapidly, but he couldn't see, much less walk normally, so he didn't have any options.

He cursed McNally mentally for his ability to recognize the voice of one of his younger coworkers, even while in a drunken haze. And of course Andy would figure out he was undercover… He hoped he could trust her word that her father wouldn't spill the beans somehow.

Strangely, he wasn't really worried about Andy herself. He was temporarily blind, not deaf—and he'd heard enough to know that the apartment he was in was probably little better than his cover apartment. When McNally had resigned more than a year ago, he'd dropped off the radar; Sam had quietly asked around but no one seemed to know anything about them. He now suspected that Andy had orchestrated the move—and from her request to keep their names a secret, it was clear why. The shame and embarrassment were all too familiar.

"What are you making?" he asked.

"It's just leftovers. I hope you like rice and beans?"

"Sounds delicious." It wasn't an exaggeration; he'd been living on whatever junk food he came across. "So you're sixteen now?"

"How do you know that?" Her voice was wary, but not alarmed.

"Your dad's last rookie is one of my good friends."

"Shaw?"

"Yeah." He wasn't surprised that she knew the name. "What has your dad said about me?" he asked curiously.

"He called you cocky."

He could hear the grin as she said it. He chuckled. "I probably was, then."

"And you're not now?"

He grinned. "It's not cocky if you're right."

Her answering scoff only made him grin more widely, despite the pain of his split lip.


	3. Chapter 3

Andy finished rinsing the last dish and placed it in the rack to dry. "So, I know most of the grime is probably part of your cover, but if you want to wash any of it off, the sink works, and I've got a rag or two you can use for a washcloth. Don't try the shower, though, it's been busted for a month."

"You use the ones at school?"

"Yeah, if I get there early enough, no one's in there at all." She yawned.

"Going to sleep soon?" asked Sam.

"I wish. I've got a history paper I've got to work on. Due Friday. I'd do it at the library, but it's always closed by the time I get home." She sighed. She had planned to do it last Sunday, but ended up working overtime to pay for the extra food she'd given to old Mrs. Simmons down the hall.

"Don't you have to have it typed?"

"Yeah, I'll get docked for that, but as long as the paper's good I'll be fine." She pulled the relevant books and papers out of the backpack and spread them out on the kitchen table.

"Talk me through what you're doing, then. Maybe I can help you stay focused," Sam offered.

Andy looked at him, a little puzzled, then shrugged. "OK."

Sam was more than helpful, she found. He asked good questions, let her read bits and pieces back to him, and offered the occasional suggestion. Her face hurt from laughing at some of his quips. The only awkward moment was when she had to help him to the restroom. 

"So the sink's on the right, the toilet's beyond it, if you go beyond that you'll run into the shower," she told him as he leaned against the doorjamb.

He started to feel his way in, then paused. "I think I can take it from here," he said with a little smirk.

Her cheeks burned as she backed off. "Yeah, I'll just go work on that one paragraph."

When she finished what she needed to complete that evening, she packed away the books, found him a blanket, and settled herself on her bed in the corner of the living room. She set the alarm for a couple hours later; she'd be exhausted the next day, but she didn't have a choice. Sam's light snoring provided a new addition to her usual bedtime lullaby of random voices and police sirens.

* * *

Waking Sam proved to be an interesting exercise. "Sam, wake up," Andy called for the third time.

"Mmph," he mumbled.

"Sam," she hissed, "I can't yell your real name, especially in the middle of the night. Wake up!"

"Jerry?" he asked, still half-asleep.

She laughed. "No, who's Jerry?"

Sam's answering groan sounded a little more promising. "Jerry Barber. He and Shaw and I were all in the same group of rookies."

"Oh, Barber!" She let out another laugh. "The one who's terrible at UC but would make a good detective."

"Your dad actually said that?"

"Was he right?"

"Yeah…" Sam admitted. "He started a rotation with the Ds earlier this year."

"All right, I think you're probably fine. Go back to sleep," she told him before finding her bed and taking her own advice.

* * *

Sam woke up slowly. The aching across his body reminded him of yesterday's beating. His brain struggled to make sense of the sound and smell of eggs frying until he remembered Andy. "Morning," he finally said, when he felt like he had a mental grip on things again. He tried to look over, but could only see a tiny sliver, so decided to leave his eyes closed again.

"Morning," she called back. "Breakfast is scrambled eggs. I hope you like."

"Eggs sound great. My diet the past few weeks hasn't exactly been what you'd call fine dining."

She snorted.

"No, seriously, I appreciate the hospitality," Sam continued. "Most people around here would've taken one look at me in that alley and walked on. **Maybe** they'd have called 911. Thanks to you, I have a chance of finishing this gig properly." He was met with silence, and tried to look at her again. Her head was ducked down and away from him. He'd probably embarrassed her.

She handed him a plate of eggs in a few minutes, and went to deliver one to her dad. Sam winced at some of the language directed her way and wasn't surprised at the silence during their breakfast. She finished suspiciously quickly, however, and he filed that away in his mind as he listened to her clean up.

Some minutes later, she came over to him and handed him a container. "Here's your lunch. You don't look ready to go anywhere yet, so just camp out on the couch for the day. In case you get bored…" she trailed off, digging in her backpack before setting something in his hand, "take my portable radio. Just keep it out of sight of my dad, OK?"

"Sure." Sam didn't bother asking why; a portable radio might bring a few dollars at a pawn shop. She probably kept it in her backpack so it wouldn't disappear while she was gone for the day. "That'll help a lot."

She yawned. "Gotta get going."

Her yawn sent a pang of guilt through him. She'd woken him up multiple times to check on him, though he remembered little of it. "Sorry for keeping you up so much last night," he said.

"It's fine, see you later."

"Yeah. Hopefully I'll actually be able to."

Her answering chuckle drifted through the open door just before it closed, and he sighed. It was going to be a long, boring day.

* * *

Sam had never been more thankful to hear a door open in his life, he thought. He'd listened to more news and talk programs than he ever wanted to hear, and the music he could get on the few stations the little radio picked up was all genres he didn't care much for. It passed the time—but that was about all he could say for it. Tommy had come out of his room only a few times; at one point he left the apartment for some hours and returned with a bottle of whisky. Sam had no idea where he got it from and wasn't about to ask.

The lunch she left by his position on the couch turned out to have a peanut butter and banana sandwich in it, and a slightly stale pastry. He guessed it was leftovers from her work—and wondered what her lunch looked like in comparison.

"How was your day?" he asked Andy as soon as she came into view. His sight wasn't all there, but he could see a little more than a slit at least.

She smiled at him. "You're still here, I see."

"Yeah, I didn't get enough of your company last night; figured I'd go back for more." He grinned at her.

She rolled her eyes at him, dropping her backpack onto the floor. "You moving around any better?"

"Some. Still sore, but I should be good to leave tomorrow," Sam told her.

She froze for a moment, then nodded. "That's good." Her voice didn't match the words, and Sam wondered how long it had been since she had someone to talk to.

He was an expert at redirection. "So what's for dinner?" he asked.

"More rice and beans. Sorry," she added, "I make a bunch at once so I'll have leftovers for several days." She opened the fridge door and started to pull out the containers.

"Hey, no apology necessary. They really were delicious. Where'd you learn to season them like that, anyway?"

"I went to the library and looked up recipes," she admitted with a little smile.

"Thinking of becoming a chef someday?"

She bit her lip and shook her head slightly. "I want to be a cop."

Sam smiled at her. "You'll get there." He started asking her about the herbs she used for seasoning, while letting the rest of his mind study her more carefully. She was a little taller than he'd seen her last, and had grown her hair out, probably because it was too hard to cut or trim it herself if it was shorter. Her clothing was well-worn and maybe a little small, but didn't seem to be too raggedy. What struck him most was how thin she was. It wasn't to the point of being unhealthy, necessarily, but any plumpness she might have had was long gone. His suspicions on that subject were confirmed when he saw her portion of food for the evening; it was only half what she had given him. She had produced a wrinkled bell pepper and chopped it to sprinkle over their portions—and was far too generous with his and her dad's, compared to the amounts on her own.

At this he drew the line. "Uh-uh-uh, you're not being fair here." He scooped up some of the food with his fork and spoon and deposited it back on her plate. "I'm not doing anything but sitting around all day; you're the one walking to school and taking classes." Andy looked like she was about to protest. "Don't even think about arguing here—you know I'm right. Besides, I couldn't sit here and eat that much while you had only that little bit."

"I'm not really that hungry," she protested.

"Sure you're not," Sam said with a raised eyebrow. "You really want to go there?"

She looked away from him, face stiff with defensive pride.

"Look, Andy, I get it, OK? I've been there. But I'm the one who got dropped into your life without warning, and am eating up all the food you had planned for meals, and if you skip or scrimp any more on food for my account, I'm going to get very angry with you. So eat your damn food, all right? I'll pay for what I've eaten."

"You're the guest—"

Sam had to snort at that. "Like you invited me cordially for dinner." He sighed. "Think of it as a bed-and-breakfast, then."

Andy let out a noise that sounded halfway between a snort and a cough. "Some bed-and-breakfast." She cast her eyes over the grimy walls, the bottles in the one corner, the bare window.

"Hey, it's nicer than where I've been staying," he pointed out.

"I guess low-level drug dealers don't exactly live luxuriously," she admitted. She lifted a forkful of rice and beans up to her mouth, and Sam hid a smile of satisfaction.

Sam wasn't able to help her with her assignments that evening, having long ago forgotten most of the mathematics he'd learned. He watched her write out the essay in careful penmanship, turning over his options in his mind. At 16, there wasn't much Children's Aid could or would do for her, and they wouldn't do anything for her father. At least she wasn't having to live in a group home; his own experience had taught him not to wish that on most of his enemies. Plus, at this point she seemed to actually trust him a little. From what he had seen, that was saying a lot. And as long as he didn't tell anyone who knew her dad where to find the two of them, that would probably continue.

Breakfast the next morning was oatmeal, and Sam watched carefully to make sure she didn't allot herself too little. It was plain, with only a little salt, but it still tasted good to him. "No need to make me a lunch," he told her. "I think I can make it back to my apartment at this point. I'll look a sight, but I can walk OK."

She nodded. "You won't tell anyone that you saw us, right?"

Just the opening he needed. "I'll make you a deal."

She gave him a wary look.

"Give me your phone for a sec." He held out his hand.

She raised her eyebrows, but pulled her phone out of her pocket and placed it in his palm.

He punched in a number and saved it. "I added in my regular cell number. If you ever need anything, you give me a call, OK? Deal?" He gave the phone back to her.

"Deal," she said with a nod, and shoved the phone back in her pocket.

"Take care, Andy," he told her, reaching a hand out to rest on her shoulder for a second. For a moment, her walls seemed to come down, and he could see the pain, the weariness, the loneliness looking out of her eyes. And then he blinked, and she was hoisting her backpack onto a shoulder and turning to leave.

He watched her go, then cleaned up a little, including wiping down some of his grime from the couch. He bade Tommy goodbye—not that he thought the other man was really aware of his presence—and began the trek back to his cover apartment. A grin didn't quite fit his UC persona (or his battered appearance), so he had to hide his reaction to the picture his imagination presented of Andy's face when she discovered the $20 bill he had stuffed into the oats bin. She was proud, but not stupid; she'd use it. Whether she'd use the cell number was another matter. At least she had it, just in case.


	4. Chapter 4

_June 2001_

"He said **what**???" Jerry asked incredulously.

"He said he was pregnant, and then he peed all over himself claiming his water broke," Oliver told the others in between his own laughter. "Craziest excuse I ever heard for speeding, but that's what you get from drunks. Sure you don't want to get back in a squad and hear them for yourself?"

Jerry shook his head. "I love not wearing the uniform, especially in summertime." He turned to Sam. "What about you, Sammy? Still having fun with Guns & Gangs?"

"You know it," Sam said with a grin. "That's where all the excitement is."

Frank, Noelle, and Oliver exchanged skeptical glances, then shook their heads. "They're going to give us rookies this year. Now **that** ought to be interesting," Noelle said.

"They can buy me my coffee, sandwiches…" Oliver declared.

"Do my paperwork," Frank added.

Sam's phone rang, and he glanced at it. It wasn't a number he knew, but there were several people that it could be, most of which required privacy. "I'm gonna take this outside," he told them. "Be right back." He plugged his other ear to block out some of the noise from the Penny, and pressed the button to answer the call as he walked to the nearest exit.

"Sam?" a voice asked before he could get a word out.

He tried to place the voice, but it was difficult with the noise around him. "This is Sam."

"You said I could call you if I needed anything," she choked out.

Sam finally reached the door and stepped out. "Andy?" He had figured she would be in a crisis if he ever heard from her. Somehow it hadn't occurred to him that she might be **crying** when she called. "I meant that, and I still do. What's wrong?"

Incoherent sobs came out, so he switched to his best attempt at the calm voice of his TO. "Andy, tell me what happened."

"It's my dad. I came home, and he was on the floor, unconscious, and he was barely breathing, so I called 911, and they took him to St. Michael's." She punctuated her tale with gasps, and Sam could barely make out some of the words.

She was halfway to hyperventilating; Sam had had enough. "Andy, Andy!" he called, until he could tell she was listening. "Breathe, OK? Breathe with me. In, now out. In, out." He repeated the words until her breathing calmed to more normal levels. "Are you at the hospital now?"

"Yeah, they took him away and I'm in the waiting room."

"I'll be right there, OK? Just stay there and keep breathing slowly," he told her.

"OK."

"See you in just a few minutes." He hung up the phone and went back inside. "Sorry, guys, gotta take care of something. I'll catch up with you another time."

"See ya around, Sammy," Jerry called.

Sam waved in acknowledgment as he went to settle his tab with the bartender. He was glad he hadn't had more than one—and hadn't finished that one either. This was not a night when he wanted to have to wait for a cab.

A little while later, he was striding into the correct waiting room as fast as he could go. He spotted her immediately—she looked much the same as he had seen her last, except perhaps a bit thinner—and closed the distance between them with only a few steps.

She turned toward him and stood as he approached. "Thank you for coming," she whispered.

Sam took in the reddened eyes and tear-streaks down her cheeks. He put a hand on her shoulder for a moment and squeezed gently. "Sit," he ordered, pushing her downwards as he sat in the chair next to hers. "Any updates yet?"

She shook her head. "I asked them five minutes ago, but…" She shrugged helplessly.

"So we wait." He leaned his head back against the wall, turning it slightly to watch her.

Andy pulled her legs up, tucking them under her chin and wrapping her arms around her knees. She looked three years younger with that one move, and Sam ached for her. He remembered all too well the long wait in the hospital waiting room, the fear and uncertainty.

"When did you last eat?" he asked her.

"I had a sandwich at lunch. I would've had dinner by now, but when I got home, he wasn't moving…" Her tone started to climb again, the anxiety and desperation pushing into her voice.

"Shh," Sam told her. "Can I get you something from the vending machine down the hall, then?"

Andy shook her head. "I couldn't eat anything right now."

"Andy…" Sam's voice held a warning. He wasn't sure why; it wasn't like he was responsible for making sure she ate. Except she had called him, so maybe he was, in a way.

"Honestly," she assured him. "I think I'd throw up if I tried." She hugged her knees tighter, as if she were trying to turn herself into a little ball where nothing bad could get inside.

Sam lifted a hand to—do what, exactly? he asked himself—and put it down. He took a deep breath. "All right, tell me something you remember. A memory of your dad and you when you were little."

"Why?" Andy asked him, eyebrows furrowed.

"You need to distract yourself for a bit. Come on," Sam urged.

Andy didn't respond for a few seconds. Sam was about to speak when she suddenly began, "The summer I was nine… He gave me a basketball for my birthday." A small smile crept onto her face as she continued, "I would pester him to shoot hoops with me every day. So on the days he didn't work, he'd take me to this park by our house, and we'd spend all morning on the basketball courts." She met Sam's eyes for a second before dropping them to the floor again. "The last time I played basketball with him was the week before my mom left."

Well, that answered a few questions Sam had had about where her mother was in all of this. "Have you heard from your mother since…?" he trailed off, uncertain how to finish the question.

Andy's mouth hardened in a straight line. "She abandoned me in the middle of the night when I was twelve years old. The only thing she ever sent was a letter three months later saying she was having a baby with her new boyfriend and that she was finally **happy**." She spat the last word out as if it left a bad taste in her mouth. "I really don't care **what** she's been up to."

"Hey, it was only a question," Sam said, raising his hands in a pacifying motion.

"I'm not going to go live with her," Andy declared.

"No one is saying you have to," Sam told her. "I just wondered where she was."

"I don't know and I don't care," she answered, a defiant tone to her voice.

Sam nodded. "All right, that's fine."

Andy looked at him skeptically.

"I get it, OK?" Sam didn't think she believed him, but the only way she might… He took a deep breath as he dug for words he had never thought he'd speak. "Look, if my only option as a teen was to go live with my dad, I wouldn't want it any more than you want to live with your mom. I **get** it."

She held his eyes with a steady gaze for a few seconds, then nodded, studying the floor again.

Sam shifted his tongue in his mouth, pondering his options. "When did you last drink some water?" he finally asked. The only answer was a halfhearted shrug. "How about I go get you a bottle of water, at least?"

"OK." Her voice was quiet, almost listless. Some of her hair slipped from behind an ear, partially shadowing her eye.

He rested a hand on her shoulder for a moment. "I'll be right back, OK?" He set off to find the nearest vending machine. A couple minutes later he was twisting the top off and handing the bottle to her. "Take a few sips," he ordered.

She obeyed, clutching the open bottle in her hand as she methodically sipped every fifteen seconds or so.

"Relatives of Thomas McNally?" called a voice from next to the desk.

Andy shot up in a flash, and Sam followed suit, wrapping his hands around the bottle and tightening the cap on it. He set it down on the table to his left, instinctively, eyes still trained on Andy.

The doctor walked over to them and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry to inform you that we did everything we could, but we could not revive him. He had acute alcohol poisoning, and it had progressed too far before we started treatment."

Sam heard only the first part of the news, because Andy simply collapsed. His arms shot out to catch her armpits and guide her down into the chair, but her eyes were far away. "Andy," he called softly. He sat next to her and tried to let her arms go, but her spine buckled, and she fell bonelessly against him. "Andy…" He settled for wrapping his arms around her, guiding her head to rest on his shoulder.

Sam turned to the doctor. "Is there anything we need to take care of right away?" he asked.

"The receptionist has the information on the different options—funeral homes and so on."

Sam nodded. He could feel awareness returning to Andy's body as she tensed up, but she didn't try to move from his arms.

"Again, I'm sorry for your loss."

Sam nodded again. As the doctor walked away, he turned his attention back to Andy. Slowly, she unfolded herself from his arms and pulled herself upright, hugging herself. Sam waited silently, watching her.

"I want to see him," she said after a minute.

"OK." It was easier said than done; the staff were justifiably concerned about Andy's reaction to seeing his body in the state it was currently in. But Andy was insistent that it didn't matter how horrible his body looked, so a few arguments later, they followed a member of the hospital staff down a corridor to a sterile-looking room, all stainless steel and smooth surfaces. The body of Thomas McNally lay on one of the tables. "I'll be right outside," Sam said quietly. He laid a hand gently on her shoulder for a second, then walked out to the hallway.

He leaned back, letting his head thunk against the wall to rest. What was he going to do now? His independent side told him to leave her be, let her go home and keep going with her life. She had managed so far. His conscience pointed out that "managing" was a generous term, considering she still looked a little too thin, she almost certainly wasn't getting enough sleep, and her grades probably weren't the highest they could be as a result. He suspected she had been drawing what she could from her father's partial pension, and wondered how much hassle she'd have trying to stay at an apartment under his name without him there. She could probably get away with it, he thought. But… he wouldn't wish that part of town on any teen girl. Particularly not one like Andy. The too-thin and slightly haunted look she had would only draw the predators more, and there was no way to disguise her beauty—deep brown eyes that sucked you in, delicate cheekbones, perfectly-shaped lips… She's just a kid, he reminded himself, beautiful or not. Anyway, there was no way she was going to stay at that apartment alone. Her father might not have discouraged people much before, but if the wrong someone learned he wasn't even around at all?

What she needed was to finish school, get through the police academy—and to learn a little self-defense, probably. Especially if she was going to be a cop. She would make one hell of a cop, too. She already had a big heart underneath her armor—dragging him home demonstrated that, even if it was a bit foolish—and he was fairly sure she already had the instincts. She just had to get there. Ignoring the voice in his head that told him he was an idiot to make this girl his responsibility, he started plotting the next move.

Andy appeared in the doorway, looking lost as she glanced around hesitantly. Her cheeks sported fresh tearstains, and she sniffled once, standing there.

Sam pushed himself off the wall and walked over to her. "Let's go," he said, leading the way.

She began to follow, then froze in her tracks. "Where are we going?"

Sam sighed to himself, turning around. "We're gonna go to your apartment first, so you can pack a bag, and then you're coming to my house." Here came the fun part.

Andy stiffened. "I don't need to go to your house."

Two could play at the stubborn game. "You're gonna spend the first night after your dad has died, sleeping in your sh***y excuse for an apartment, surrounded by his whisky bottles?"

Andy's eyes filled with tears, and she looked away from Sam.

He reached out to grasp her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You **really** want to stay there right now? Because I can tell you, my bed will feel a lot better than your couch, and I'd really like to be able to sleep in my own bed."

"What—what do you mean?" Andy furrowed her eyebrows.

"I mean that I'm not leaving you by yourself tonight. And if it's all the same to you, I'd rather sleep in my house than your apartment." Sam dropped his hand and watched her for signs of a continuing fight, but received none.

Something in Andy's expression gave way, and her head drooped to study the floor again.

"Let's go," Sam said quietly, with the light press of a hand to her back between the shoulder blades.

This time Andy followed him without question.


	5. Chapter 5

Andy stared out the window of Sam's truck for the entire ride back to her apartment. Sam watched her out of his peripheral vision, but she stayed a silent lump against the corner of the seat. He followed her up to the apartment while she packed silently, just in case she tried to bolt, but she moved as if she were wading through quicksand—any faster and she might be sucked under.

When they arrived at Sam's house, he offered to take her backpack, but she clutched it to her and shook her head. He let it go—if she wanted to carry it, that was her problem. "Guest bedroom's the first door on the right when you get up the stairs," he told her. He locked the door behind them and started looking through the pantry in the kitchen. A few minutes later he knocked on her door. "Andy?"

She opened it and gazed at him with dull eyes.

"Come on," he beckoned her downstairs. He motioned her into the kitchen, where a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup awaited each of them. "Finish it before you go to bed," he ordered.

She reluctantly picked up the spoon and began to sip from it.

Sam finished his quickly and watched her empty the bowl into her stomach, bit by bit. When she was done, he left their bowls in the sink and led her upstairs. "There's towels in the closet when you want a shower," he said with a gesture towards it. He watched her nod and slip into her room. The click of the door closing snapped him out of his thoughts, and he made short work of his sleep preparations. He paused only to fire off a quick text message to Noelle asking if he could swap shifts to have tomorrow off. When he closed his eyes, he could see Andy standing in front of him again, her face all hollow and lifeless. Sleep came slower than he liked.

* * *

Andy cracked an eye open and stared in confusion. This wasn't her apartment. She was in a real bedroom for the first time in years, the walls a gentle cream, with curtains on the windows. Her fingers gripped the bedspread underneath them; it was soft and warm, blues and grays blending into each other. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up in an attempt to clear her head. Pieces of the previous day began to fall into place in her mind, and she quickly squeezed her eyes shut to forestall any tears. When she felt that she could breathe normally again, she opened them again. She squinted at the sunlight, grabbing for her phone in a hurry. "S***!" she swore, dropping it and rummaging in her backpack for the change of clothes she'd packed the night before. A couple minutes after that she thundered down the stairs, backpack slung over one shoulder… and stopped short at the sight in front of her.

Sam stood at the stove, turning the eggs he was scrambling. He glanced up. "Morning," he greeted quietly, then focused his attention on the eggs.

She stood there for several seconds, trying to find the words she wanted. "I'm late to class," she finally said.

"You're not going today," Sam informed her.

Irritation welled up in her. "What do you mean, I'm not going?"

"I mean that I already called the school and let them know you were going to be absent due to a family medical emergency." Andy's face must have betrayed some of her unease at this, because he went on, "They think your dad's still in the hospital, which, technically he is."

Sam's shrug at that sparked one flame of anger, but the casual way he decided her life for her started a roaring bonfire. Who did he think he was? "I don't care what they think; you didn't have the right to decide that for me," she said, hissing a little.

Sam turned off the stove and pulled a couple plates out of a cupboard. "Here," he said, handing her a plate. "Eat up—being angry takes a lot of energy."

Andy could've screamed, but her stomach gnawed a little at her, so she accepted the plate despite herself. She ignored him as she served herself and sat down to stab bits of egg with her fork. She would eat his food, but she didn't have to talk to him while she did it.

* * *

Sam studied the teen in front of him as he chewed his eggs. Andy's jaw was set in stubborn lines, and her rigid posture spoke volumes. If this was her reaction to being forced just to take a day off school, he could only imagine what she'd say or do when he dropped the rest of the bombshell on her. That could wait till they finished breakfast, at least.

He put away the leftovers as she ate her last few bites, then returned to the table to sit across from her. His eyes bored into her cheek as she tried to look away for a while.

Eventually she began to fidget, until finally she snapped. "All right, just say… whatever it is you want to say."

"You're not going to ask what you're doing today instead?" Sam kept his eyes trained on her.

"You're having so much fun ordering my life around to suit you, I figured you'd tell me," she shot back.

Her anger bulged under her skin like an overinflated air mattress; Sam poked at it. "Andy, your dad just died yesterday."

"No s***, really?" The sarcasm dripped from her words. "I'm the one who called 911. I had to watch the paramedics trying to revive him, and then when they couldn't I looked at his dead body in a morgue." By the time she finished talking, the tears had half taken over her voice, and at least a few escaped to her cheeks. She swiped at them ineffectually before just covering her face with her hands. Her breathing was harsh and shuddery, and her anger visibly leached out with each shaky breath.

Sam waited, watching.

"Don't you have work?" she asked, muffled by her hands.

"Traded shifts with someone so I'd have today off."

"I'll be fine, Sam, you can leave me be," she said, dropping her hands at last. Her face suddenly looked weary and resigned.

"Actually, I can't," he said. "What are you planning on doing with yourself now that your dad is gone?"

"School, work, live at the apartment…? It's not like he had a lot to do with my day-to-day life." She traced the grain of the table's wood with her index finger, not meeting Sam's eyes.

This was not going to be easy. Sam sighed. "How did you pay the rent on the apartment?" He was met with silence. "You don't have his pension anymore, and even if you did, that's not a part of town for a teen girl living alone."

"I've been handling it. I'll figure something out," she insisted, eyes trained on the table just in front of her.

"You can't, Andy. Even if it were safe enough, you're not doing as well as you like to pretend. Don't think I didn't notice how thin you've gotten."

Andy looked off to her right, trying to avoid Sam's gaze.

Sam counted it a victory that she hadn't taken off yet. "You also need more sleep, and the chance to get decent grades without worrying about whether you've paid the bills."

"So what, you're going to manufacture me a nice cozy family? Mom and dad and brother in the suburbs?" Her laugh was bitter, mocking.

"Andy…" he began.

"No, really, Sam, what bright idea do you have now?" She rolled her eyes at Sam, but glanced away before they could lock with his. She picked at her fingernails restlessly.

"You're going to stay with me," he said, watching her to see her reaction.

Andy didn't disappoint. Her eyes went wide and wary, and she met Sam's gaze for the first time in minutes. "What's the catch?" she asked after a little bit.

She reminded Sam of a stray cat, poised to flee at a moment's notice, alternately hissing and scratching, yet creeping closer in between those times. "No catch," he assured her.

Her expression didn't change. "I don't want charity," she told him.

"That's good, because I'm not offering it," Sam said with a little smirk. The battle was half-won; now it was down to the final few skirmishes.

Andy furrowed her eyebrows. "So what, you're going to make me pay rent too? I'm not seeing how that's going to improve things any."

"Exchange of goods and services. You get room and board, I get a cook and housekeeper."

A beat, and she scoffed. "You're kidding."

"Says the girl who taught herself how to season beans by looking up recipes at the library? I think you can handle it."

Andy sighed. "You don't really need a cook or a housekeeper."

"I'm lazy," said Sam, leaning back in his chair. "I hate cleaning. And I like the idea of coming home to food I didn't have to cook."

"So eat out."

"Homemade's cheaper and more convenient."

Andy tilted her head to the side and gave Sam a weary look. "Why are you doing this? Seriously, what's in it for you?"

Sam didn't bother addressing her cynicism; he'd have had the same attitude in her place. "Because I want to see you make it at 15 Division someday, but you'll have a hard time getting there if you're living on the streets or worse."

Andy bit her lip and looked down.

Sam went on, "Your dad would've wanted that for you, and I owe him that much."

Andy's eyes filled again, and she blinked rapidly.

Sam watched her for a moment before standing. "Come on, we've got a lot to accomplish today."

"I didn't say I agreed to this."

He stood still for a moment, studying the teen girl sitting in his kitchen. Her shoulders were hunched, jaw set in brittle lines. Sam sent a volley at the defensive shell around her. "I don't think you really have a choice," he said quietly, and watched her façade crumble.


	6. Chapter 6

Andy followed Sam throughout the day, numb and listless. Under his direction, she found herself packing up her apartment, giving notice to her work, and arranging for her father's burial. She boggled at the prices for even the cheapest of coffins, and watched with shame as Sam paid for everything. It would take her months to come up with enough to repay him, assuming she still had a job and wasn't spending her earnings on anything. But he had insisted.

"You can't hold down an after-school job and cook dinner at any reasonable hour," he'd pointed out. "Plus you've got homework. So unless you want to do some after-school thing…?" He paused and looked at her.

She shrugged; she'd never had that option before.

He dipped his head in acknowledgment, "Then you'll come straight home, get homework done, and wait for my text. I'll let you know if I'm going to be home that evening or if I'll be out so you'll know if you need to cook anything. Your grades are top priority, OK?"

She nodded. It wasn't like she had anything else to do…

"Next year you'll need to transfer to the school near my house. For these last few weeks, I'll drive you when I can. Otherwise, you'll take a city bus and walk from the nearest stop."

Andy nibbled her lower lip for a minute before asking, "What am I supposed to cook? I really don't know that much."

Sam's response was a grin and a trip to the library to check out a cookbook for beginners. "I like just about everything," he told her, "so try whatever you want. Just let me know whatever ingredients you need and I'll make sure to get them on the way home from work."

She tried one last-ditch effort. "What if someone comes to visit and needs the guest room?"

He shook his head. "No one will. And there's always the couch."

Andy gave up. It seemed her life was already ordered, whether she liked it or not. She stashed her father's few belongings in bags in Sam's basement, and put away the rest of her clothes into the drawers of the dresser in her new room. She glanced at the cover of the cookbook, but the thought of cooking anything then just made her feel even more tired. She curled up on her bed and closed her eyes, willing sleep to come. When it did, it brought vivid images of her father lying on the floor of his room, of his broken body on the morgue table. She woke gasping, tears running down her face.

* * *

The sad part was how few trips he had to make to bring all of Andy's things in, Sam decided. She had a few photos, an album from her childhood, a couple beat-up paperbacks, a handful of dishes that had nostalgic value, and one garbage bag each of hers and her dad's clothing. He helped her store in his basement what she wasn't going to use, and watched her lug the sack of her clothes upstairs. He left her to that task; she'd spent the day with her head down, following his orders. Her energy level had been low enough that he wasn't going to call her down until it was close to dinner time. He could order in tonight; her day had been long enough.

He sank onto the couch and leaned his head back. What was he doing? In less than a day he had gone from a confirmed bachelor to having a teen girl staying with him, and he wasn't quite sure how it had happened. He reviewed the reasons he'd given Andy. Did he want to see her make it as a cop? Yes. (A part of him mused that she might be interesting to train.) Did he owe her dad this? Sort of.

Oliver, not Sam, had been Tommy's rookie. If he'd known of Andy's situation, he'd have insisted on her staying with him and Zoe. But Andy was still adamant that no one else from 15 Division know of her circumstances, and Sam understood that pride and independence. Whatever trust she had in him would evaporate the moment he went behind her back and shared her secrets with anyone else. Besides, it would be hard enough for her to stay with Sam; Oliver's house would've been worse. Izzy was a toddler, and Zoe was pregnant with their second. It wasn't exactly the place for a grieving teen with loner tendencies. Someday Oliver might know about this, but for now… this was his task to do for his friend—and in a way for the whole brotherhood. Just because Andy had successfully dropped off their radar didn't mean they didn't still owe her something.

So now he had a teenager to raise, Sam thought. (He would be something like a big brother, he decided, a new role for him to try.) Well, at least that put an end to any thoughts of moving. He'd not been lying when he told Andy no one ever needed the guest room. He wasn't about to tell her that he had considered moving to a smaller place, with only one bedroom. She didn't need any more reasons to feel like a charity case.

He got up and started sifting through the fast food menus he kept by the phone. When he'd placed the order, he went upstairs and knocked gently on Andy's door. She didn't respond, so he carefully turned the knob to see her sound asleep on her bed. Her face was relaxed in sleep, with no traces of the past few days on it. A stray lock had slipped out of her braid and fallen across her nose, and Sam thought she looked years younger than the seventeen to her name. He pulled the door shut with a soft click. It'd be a little while till the food got there; she could sleep till then.

* * *

The buzz of her phone distracted Andy from the math homework she was working on. The text was from Sam, of course—she had no other numbers in her phone: _I'll be home for dinner._ Well, she'd been stuck on this one problem anyway—perfect time for a break.

She was starting simple—soups were really hard to mess up—and thankfully Sam really had meant it when he said he liked just about everything. She let her mind wander as she chopped vegetables for the soup. Living at Sam's house hadn't been that bad so far. She made breakfast most mornings, having learned that he would eat nothing but toast and coffee otherwise. He dropped her off at school and she took the bus home, except for days when she went to the library to type up her essays. He was home for dinner about half the time; the rest she pulled out leftovers from the fridge.

The only downside was too much time on her hands. The first day that she didn't have to cook, she finished her homework and spent the rest of the evening trying to find something to do that wouldn't remind her of her father. Sam had arrived home in the middle of her poking through every cupboard and drawer in the house. The next day she got a text as she got out of school telling her to go to the library and pick out three books to read when she was done with homework. He followed it up with a stack of DVDs from the local movie rental place. She welcomed the distraction, losing herself in Maycomb, Alabama and Middle-earth. Her only mistake was listening to the librarian who recommended _A Ring of Endless Light_ ; she had enough grief in real life without needing to read about it too. The next few nights she had free time, she stuck to watching the action films Sam had brought home. They were mindless, something to fill the empty spaces of her life with noise and movement until she was tired enough to sleep.

She finished preparing the vegetables and tossed them in the broth before unerringly making a beeline for the next ingredients she needed. The soup was done by the time Sam walked in the door, tired from a long shift with extra paperwork.

"Smells delicious," he commented.

They ate in silence as usual, seated at one end of the little table in the kitchen. Spoon halfway to her mouth, Andy realized she had a routine already, less than two weeks into her new life. What startled her the most was that she didn't feel the urge to leave it.


	7. Chapter 7

Sam pulled up to the curb and turned off the engine. Traffic had cooperated to get him to Andy's school early. It was the last day of school for the summer, and he even had the day off.

The first few days of having her at his place, he had watched her like a hawk, expecting her to bolt. The Andy he had first met was tenacious and stubborn, but the one he had seen the past few weeks had been resigned and apathetic. He'd let it go till school was out; she needed the time to adjust, to make living with him a habit. But it had gone on long enough. Andy McNally wasn't meant to look at life with dull eyes, and Sam was tired of seeing it. Besides, she was going to get very bored this summer without a few more activities in her daily routine.

The students began to pour out of the school like ants spilling from a disturbed anthill. Eventually Sam spotted her, backpack slung over her shoulders, head bowed as she trudged to his pickup. She had filled out considerably since coming to live with him, had lost the gaunt gangly look and began to appear more like a woman. Sam was certain this required some new wardrobe purchases, but wasn't quite sure how to broach the subject, so he decided hijacking was the best option.

"Good day?" Sam asked her as she buckled her seatbelt.

Andy shrugged.

Sam was unsurprised; she hadn't said two words to him in the past few weeks besides the absolute necessities. He didn't push it, though, pulling away from the curb silently and heading for the store he had in mind.

"Wait, this isn't the way to your place," she said after a few minutes.

"How observant of you," he quipped, suppressing a smile as he kept his eyes ahead.

"Where are we going?" she asked, giving him a wary side glance.

"You need some more clothes, ones that actually fit you." He glanced over at her; she had shifted to stare out the other window. "I may be a guy, but I'm not blind."

"I don't have the money to pay for anything, and I don't want your charity," Andy told him firmly. "I'll just keep wearing what I have for now."

Well, there was a little spark of life. Now to fan it into a flame… "Half your clothes are threadbare, and the other half are bursting at the seams," he pointed out, and watched with satisfaction as she squirmed, color creeping up her cheeks. "It's a loan, which you'll pay back with whatever you earn from the summer job you're going to get."

She narrowed her eyebrows at him but didn't argue, settling back into her seat.

Sam had gone shopping with his sister years ago, but she'd still been getting used to being in public again, so those trips were more like army missions—get in, get the target, get out. Andy had a different take on "mission", he decided. Where Sarah was furtive and prone to buy the first potentially suitable item, Andy scrutinized everything carefully to be sure it was exactly what she wanted. Her purchases, Sam noted, were only the most serviceable items—nothing frivolous or dressy, only what she could wear all the time.

At first, he offered to just hand her the credit card, but she refused, claiming it felt too much like a gift. However, when she glanced at the section labeled "Intimate Apparel" and blushed, Sam drew the line at his involvement. "OK, you're going to take this, go find what you need, and buy it. I do **not** need to come with you," he insisted, holding out the piece of plastic.

Her face crimson, Andy snatched the card from his hand and plunged into the aisles of racks.

"I'll meet you by the shoes," he called, already turned away.

An hour later, Sam was glad to call it a day, at least as far as the shopping went. The bags held surprisingly few items—Andy insisted that she didn't need **that** many outfits—and what they did get was economical. (Sam wasn't sure whether that would still be true if the time it took to find them was factored into it.) He glanced at his watch. "No cooking tonight; let's eat out. There's a diner around the corner that makes pretty good sandwiches."

"OK," she mumbled.

He fastened his seatbelt and was about to start the engine when his phone rang. _Oliver Shaw_ , the ID read. "It's Shaw," he warned Andy.

She drew her fingers across her mouth, closing an imaginary zipper.

Sam pressed the button to answer, lifting the phone to his ear. "Hey."

_"Hey Sammy, enjoying the day to yourself?"_

"What's not to like? Out of the uniform, not stuck in the squad, no paperwork to do…"

Oliver's snort came through the little speaker clearly; Sam wondered if Andy could hear it. _"You'd have most of those things if you went back to Guns & Gangs for a while. Still haven't figured out why you turned them down last week."_

Sam really hoped she couldn't. "Eh, I want to enjoy the summer first before I go back to UC work. Promised Zoe I'd go to at least one of your barbecues this year." Well, he hadn't actually promised; she'd begged, and his response had been noncommittal. But Oliver didn't need to know that.

_"So that means you're on for Saturday? Jerry already promised he'd be there."_

Sam sighed. "Sure, tell Zoe I'll be there."

_"Great! See you at the Penny this evening?"_

"Maybe."

_"You got something else going on instead?"_

"Just projects."

_"Whatever, Sammy."_

Sam chuckled and hit the end call button before twisting the key in the ignition. He had backed out of the parking spot before Andy spoke.

"You turned down a spot in Guns & Gangs?" she asked.

Sam glanced over at her, then turned back to the road. Of **course** she heard.

"Was it because of me?"

Maybe if he ignored her, she'd give up?

"I don't need babysitting, you know."

Damn, she was persistent.

"I don't want to be holding your career back."

Sam finally sighed. "You're not. Zoe—that's his wife, by the way—really did want me to go to one of the barbecues that she and Oliver like to hold, and I spent the entire last summer undercover, so…" He pulled into a parking spot outside the diner and moved the gear to park. "Besides," he said with a sudden grin at Andy, "I'm good enough at UC work that they'll ask for me again." He smirked at Andy's eyeroll. "I'm starved, let's go eat," he said, nodding his head toward the diner.

The diner wasn't as full as Sam had expected, and soon they were taking bites of their sandwiches. Andy spent the time staring at her plate or the sandwich in her hands. Sam eyed her speculatively, then raised a hand to flag down the waitress.

"What can I do for you, sir?"

"There's a problem with my BLT."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I think you'd better call a ham-bulance."

Andy's head popped up suddenly, and she stared at him as if he'd lost his mind.

The waitress gave him a longsuffering sigh. "Can I get you anything else?"

Sam restrained his grin. "Yeah, she was wondering if you had any henways on the menu?" He motioned to Andy, who raised an eyebrow at him.

The waitress looked at him skeptically. "What's a henway?"

"About three pounds." He hid his smirk as Andy burst out laughing. Success!—the first real laugh from her since she'd been living with him. It was worth the dirty look the waitress gave him as she moved to another table.

Andy shook her head, still grinning. "You're an idiot."

He matched her grin. "You laughed, though," he pointed out.

"Yeah, yeah," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "Where did you get those jokes, anyway? Talk about lame…"

"When I was in third grade, I bought the biggest joke book I could find."

"And you obviously memorized them," Andy said.

"All one hundred and one."

"Yeah, still lame."

"Maybe." He winked at her and popped a fry into his mouth. A small smile crept onto her face and stayed there. At least the jokes had worked on Andy, Sam thought to himself. There was just one more thing he had to try…

* * *

"Where are we going?" Andy asked, confused. Sam had tossed something in a bag and ordered her to follow him. A couple blocks later, she still had no idea what their destination was.

"There," he said, pointing at a set of courts open to the public. He opened the gate to the basketball one and motioned her in ahead of him. "Turn around," he called.

Andy spun around to find herself catching a basketball. "What…?" she trailed off, unable to find the rest of the words for the question she wanted to ask.

"It's about time you played again, and these courts are within walking distance. Come on, shoot a few hoops."

She was horrified to find her eyes filling with tears, and blinked them away quickly. "I haven't tried in years."

"All the more reason to try now." Sam's tone was firm and unyielding.

Andy sighed, recognizing the futility of fighting orders when he gave them in that tone. She picked up the ball and tried to shoot one of the hoops. It missed the basket by half a meter, and her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. "I told you, I haven't done this in ages."

Sam walked over to where the ball had rolled, scooping it up. "Doesn't mean you can't pick it back up," he told her, throwing her the ball. "Try again."

Catch, aim, shoot. She repeated the steps over and over, until she began to sink basket after basket, and her few misses were only a handful of centimeters away from the rim. The sun sank behind the horizon by the time they turned to walk home. She was a sweaty mess, but for the first time in a long while, she felt grounded.


End file.
